The Politician on the Telly demanding plans for the Millinie,
The old man dozing, smiling and posing,
Oh we have, yes we have, we’ve planned and schemed.
The things we will do, things of which you cannot have dreamed.
Our friends from the North down the M1 streaming.
Sixteen abreast, four carriage ways filling,
Come the Mobile chairs, souped up engines whining,
All dressed in black leather, polished and shining,
With super charged simmers all out riding,
Bound for Hyde Park to have some fun.
Overhead, Old Pilots flying their microlites, glint in the sun,
Ducking and diving looping the loop,
Some flying blind, just to make a full troop.
The Police are all grounded, their cars all clamped
By a troop of old wardens out from their camp,
Their radios too are all expired,
A team of old tecknicians had them rewired.
“Recall Parliament” , the tabloids all thundered,
They did, but the Westminster oldies already had plundered.
Ted Heath, crossed the floor,
All the time conducting the “Riverdance score”,
Betty Boothroyd left the Chair to lead a team of high kickers,
All tapping and stepping, displaying their knickers,
The Lords were aleaping, not a single one sleeping,Bishops played games with ermine clad Dames.
Beefeaters in the Tower line danced by the hour,
The crown jewels neglecting, the ravens objecting.
The people all clapping and calling for more.
Newspaper headlines , their Editors complaining,
Litter and Lager louts ,we have managed to clear,
But these “Lucazade Loonies” take some explaining,
These revolting old people all having fun,
Why don’t they go home, and sit in the sun?
Finally now the Queen Mum takes the salute,
Hand held high, clutching her champagne flute.
Then a touch on my shoulder, “Cup of tea dear,
Enjoy your nap?, don’t let it get cold”
So that’s it then, its all over, now it can be told,
The blighters have won, well perhaps not quite, We can still toddle out to register our vote.